


Inspiration [Indulgence]

by velocirapture



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Art, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Mild Art!Kink, Museums, Operas, Oral Sex, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 09:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1977393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velocirapture/pseuds/velocirapture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is inspired by an opera's beauty in both a cerebral and a corporal way. As he exits the house, he prowls for a partner to fulfill these inspirations, and hones in on a woman chatting away in the lobby. The interest is mutual and the two duck into one of the great museum hall's art rooms for some PWP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inspiration [Indulgence]

**Author's Note:**

> Another simple indulgent work I wrote during season one for a friend. It has\had been quite some time since I wrote erotica, so bear with it. It's actually surprisingly embarrassing to post considering I've been reading porn for almost a decade now?? But this is my first shot so I hope you enjoy it! Critique is welcome.

     The production was moving. The music told a story - oh, the story! - a story of love, and loss, pain, and lies, truth, disguise. It was a truly gorgeous piece. It sparked in Hannibal inspiration of a degree he had not felt in many, many years. It lit a fire that, in his past, had been momentarily quenched in varying ways, all of which led to heavy negative consequences. The blaze within him caused a fear he was unaccustomed to: one that had nothing to do with his lifestyle, nothing to do with Will, nothing to do with any tangibly frightening prospects. He scanned the lobby for an offered release, nearly seething with the indecency and commonality of the situation. None of this showed on his face, of course. What other than the pictures he painted of himself ever did?

     Lust was not something Hannibal was fond of, nor something he experienced often. He had believed the issue resolved after the last catastrophe. Finding himself subject to such a mundane caricature of humanity was fueling angry flames; the fact that it was such a simpleton's folly was an irony not missed by the man stepping through high end crowds dressed in a fine-tailored three-piece suit at a cultural arts event.

     As he prowled, a wanting wolf in fine man's clothes, Hannibal craved the soft sounds of a woman being played like an instrument at his fingertips. He craved his own breath becoming ragged effort as the female he decided upon would writhe, each breath drawn within her, released apart. He craved, and his indulgent side was going to win this night. He was sure of it, and his eyes landed on his prey.

     Standing with a taller, older man and a petite young girl was a young woman with a black form-fitting dress, completed with blood red accent work. The girl's hair and features were striking, accentuated by slight, bold makeup. Surprisingly, Hannibal found it stunning rather than tasteless. Something about this young woman resonated spectacular, and it drew Hannibal in like a light. As she spoke, he could see, in his mind's eye, her lips parting in pleasure, he could visualize her eyes dilating, rolling back; he could see her falling to her knees at his feet. He began to sidle up to the trio, circling, deciding how to get her away from her posse. The fire within his veins was fierce, threatening to cloud his usually crystalline thoughts.

     She noticed him. His allowed his eyes to communicate his interest. She excused herself, politely, from the couple she was with. She walked toward him. He smiled at her and bent his head, respectfully. "Hello," he began.

     "Hello there," she said, voice laced with curiosity, friendliness, and something more. In a more coolly focused state of mind, he would have dissected much of her in the following few minutes.

     Smooth as ever, he spoke. "How did you enjoy the opera?"

     "I thoroughly enjoyed it," she replied, smiling up at him. "It was a fantastic work. The second lady's voice was spectacular, although there was so much talent on the stage from everyone! And the story-" she cut off as Hannibal grasped her by the waist and pulled her out of the way of a passing patron. "Oops, thanks."

     "Please continue," he offered without removing his hand.

     She barely stumbled back into her explanation, though a blush began to creep into her words. Recognizing willingness and opportunity as she spoke, "Well, the story was one of-", - he interrupted her by leaning closer. Together, they still looked decent enough, although one or two patrons had raised a curious eyebrow.

     "I am going to take you to an empty hallway now," he murmured, only loudly enough for her to hear him over the conversations in the lobby. Her eyes widened, momentarily flickering back to her comrades. He saw her toying with her options and applied a little pressure to her waist, taking a step toward the hallway. He watched any resolve otherwise disappear into curiosity and playfulness as she began to walk with bouncing steps away from him. She let his arm remain wound around her waist as they pretended to belong, walking away from the noise and crowd of the lobby, dodging into a hall.

     The physical inspiration that Hannibal had been suffering to make a reality since halfway through the opera was straining for realization. Blood flow began to run hot and heavy through both bodies as the tension within the silence grew with each passing step. He knew her nerves would be on edge at this point. She was alone with a stranger - threatening enough without his particular caliber of danger, he smirked to himself, remember the catch of the night before. Dinner had been particularly savory. A proper cuisine had been exactly that man's place.

     They continued walking as a slow pace, although it was anything but leisurely. He could only imagine what she was thinking. Suddenly, he reached across her chest and turned a doorknob, sidling into a museum room with paintings on the walls and three sculptures in the middle of the room. These were only visible for a moment before he knocked the door back into its place and the room was shroud in darkness.

     His hand slid lower. The girl let out a nervous laugh, then - with joking bravado - began to say, "why, hello there, sir. It's nice to meet you, my name is-"  
His other hand lashed up to her mouth and covered it tightly. He felt a her warmth against his palm. "I do not want to know your name," he spoke. "I do not wish to hear your words. Communicate with me in silenced screams and muffled moans. I ask that you to keep our pleasure secret. Do not let the patrons who are here tonight witness two shows for the ticket price of one,"

     He heard a sharp intake of breath and lowered his lips to the sound. The air was charged with electricity and flames were blazing within him. He raised both hands to either side of the girl's face, caressing and pulling it up to meet his. He brought her less than an inch away from his own face, pausing for a brief moment, allowing her to close the space. He waited politely for permission, although he knew had she not granted it, he would have taken anyway.

     She pressed her lips to him, signing away her soul to the devil with a kiss. He tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her bottom lip between his own, sucking and nibbling and tasting before pushing for more. Her hands wandered up and down his chest and back, leaving deliciously delicate sensations behind everywhere her fingers touched. She bit back, creating splintering arousal with every tooth mark. Her body slowly rocked against his, hands wandering, allowing him to tug and pull at any part of her. Hannibal wrapped himself around her tightly, pulling her against him, hands sliding along her sides, fingertips running teasingly over her sides, back, legs. The darkness swallowed their outlines. Their quiet noises fell upon stone sculpted ears and an empty room. They were alone, - intimately alone, - together.

     He felt no attachment to this woman. He felt no guilt for his disinterest. He simply felt, and, in that moment, with his heartbeat loud in his eardrums, broken only by the sounds of this girl's breath, his veins racing with an atypical needy, hot, downward flow, his cock throbbing and straining at his slacks, his hands tightening on a stranger's body, his mouth occupied with softness, wetness; simply feeling, Hannibal began to indulge.

     The girl broke the kiss, leaning her head back to expose her neck and take a breath. Hannibal took her cue. He pressed his closed lips against her collarbone, opening them slightly to run his tongue from lower collarbone to earlobe. He nibbled there for a moment, feeling her relax further against him, before pressing his open mouth to her neck. Applying a gentle suction, he then pulled his head back along his original path, then travelled the length of her collarbone, before finally running along the opposite side of her neck. Throughout this, her hands alternated between closing into fists and spreading out completely and grasping his jacket. He murmured, "Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?" huskily into her ear, removing his suit jacket without taking his head away from her as he waited her delicious intake of breath. He was rewarded a soft, breathy, "Yes". Baring his teeth, he dragged them lightly along the sides of her neck, feeling her scratch at his back and neck in growing desperation, before growling into her ear, "Yes, what?"

     She was silent already, and stood very still. Her quivering form was exactly the antidote to the poisonous commonality of lust he was dealing with. He was trembling, too, both with his newfound power and the proximity of release. He knew he could get away with so much with this willing woman's body. He barely stopped to consider why she had come with him, instead, he spun her around so that her back was against his chest, grasping her throat with one hand and bringing her ear up to his lips in one fell swoop. Her chest rose and fell with motion indicative of her intense arousal. He tightened his fingers around the thin, breakable neck. "Yes, what?" he repeated, low and dangerous. His other hand began to trail up her leg, leaving goosebumps behind.

     "I thought you didn't want to know names," she whispered.

     He slid under her dress, lightly smacking her ass with his fingers. "Naughty," he said. He slid his fingers further, trailing lightly around to the front before being overcome with brilliant desire. He held her head back with one hand, bit down on the soft flesh where neck meets shoulder, forcing her forward, and drove his fingers underneath her panties. He teasingly rolled her lips between his fingers, reveling in her natural lubrication that flowed so freely. Her mouth had fallen open and she was gasping for breath.

     "Yes, sir," he coaxed her, his words spoken straight into her skin.

     "Yes, sir," she mouthed, a whisper barely heard in the silent room. He chuckled darkly and slid a digit inside the girl. It seemed to simultaneously take all her strength away and give her new life; she fell back against him, pushing him deeper, but also slid her palm down behind her, against his chest, lower, lower - and then she was gripping him through his slacks and he was seeing red. Letting out a sharp breath, he added a finger and moved the two of them inside her in tight, fast circles and she retaliated by clutching him firmly, pulling up and down, hardening his cock and blurring his mind. He growled again, bucking once against her palm before squeezing her neck tightly, restricting her breathing for a slow moment. Hannibal used this slim levering point to spin her around, also twisting inside her, until she faced him once again. He let go and she let out a whimpering moan, able once again to breathe, heavy lidded eyes gazing, glazed, at his mouth. He took that hand to unzip his slacks, swatting aside her hand as he did. He then gently ran his fingers along the top of her hand, lacing his between hers and dragging it inside his suit, pressing her against his manhood. She traced the throbbing veins achingly slowly, grasping his member and jacking it off. The pressure was already exquisite; his mouth began to water as he imagined replacing her fingers with her body. He bucked against her grasp and began pumping three fingers into her, curling inside her and twisting around, drawing delicious sounds from her lips. He kissed her softly, then nuzzled into the crook of her neck. As he did so, she licked and nipped at his neck, lightening shooting through his skin. He bit down his hardest yet, slamming his fingers up to knuckles, drawing a little screaming yelp and a particularly hard squeeze from the girl. He chuckled again, drawing away and dipping back to give her a light, soft-lipped kiss to the now bruising spot. She shot him a venomous glare, bringing her hand up to her neck to prod at the tender area. He prepared to press her back against the wall and ravish her, but the girl had other plans.

     She dropped to her knees at his feet and pulled his length out of his clothing. Frozen in surprise and anticipation, he cocked an eyebrow at the young girl when she looked up at him, lips half an inch from his tip. She opened her mouth, teasingly remaining a short distance away from him. The older man was impatient. He gripped her by the hair, grabbing at the back of her head, and slid himself into her mouth. His eyes rolled back as the girl groaned onto his skin, sucking. She was running her tongue around the tip repeatedly and bobbing up and down. Unused to this contact as Hannibal was, he grunted and swelled with arousal, eyes rolling around the room. As she sucked, he stroked her hair, panting softly. He looked around, taking in the paintings hanging, able to make them out slightly, his eyes having adjusted to the darkness. Thrusting past her lips, Hannibal noticed the sculpture of lovers across the wall. He saw their passion, their pleasure far too tempting to leave unchallenged. He pulled the girl off of his cock, pulling her up to face him. She was breathless and flushed. She was beautiful. She was about to become art.

     Thick and hard, Hannibal was ready. He wanted this girl immediately. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, kissing her quickly, passionately, and then dropped her down against the wall between the lovers' piece and a colorful abstract painting, its vibrancy barely visible in the dark. He towered over her momentarily, letting his power emanate, before getting down and pulling her undergarments off. She stepped out of them shakily, standing with her legs apart. He dropped his trousers, stepping out of them toward her: ready to feel, ready to create. Their eyes met. He lifted her dress up above her waist, exposing her stomach, and guided himself between her legs. Their breathing was hot, heavy. Their bodies, quivering and ready, filled the air. The dead art in the room was lit alive with sensual scents: the smell of sweat and his newly released member lay underneath the smell of her arousal, overcoming all else and making him heady. The girl pressed her hips forward, touching the very tip of his head. He felt the blood in his body rush towards her, felt his head go light, felt his hips light aflame, felt himself push further, pushing, pushing, pushing until he was halfway in and already moaning into her ear, his dominance wavering at the sheer force of pleasurable pressure surrounding him. They pressed together, arms wrapping around one another's backs, lips brushing each other, lips against lips, neck against neck, lips against necks and ears, until he was completely enveloped and her eyes were shut and her mouth open with a silent scream of pleasure and he was slumped against her, sliding in and out of the velvety, torturous heat, and her hips were bucking up against him, and they were passionate, together, encouraging one another to share more and more with each other with every thrust. Her fingers dug into his skin, leaving long, deep scratches underneath his dress shirt, and he retaliated with sensuous love bites along her neck and shoulders, along with hands that were molding her breasts, massaging with aching pressure, occasionally pinching down, twisting her sharply, before returning to cup or rub her gently again. He thrust deeply and she met every thrust with equal force and the pair's movements became faster and sharper and needier as each simultaneously raced to climax and laboriously attempted to soak in the experience, to take their time, enjoying each and every brilliant sensation. Suddenly, her breath hitched and her body tensed, he let go of her breasts and slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, assisting her in sliding him as deep as possible at whatever her perfect angle was; her hands clutched onto his neck and shoulders and she threw her head back, groaning lowly and continuously. He quickened the pace, shortening each thrust, reveling in the slick, burning pleasure and leaning over her to ravage what bits of her neck were left unmarked, clutching at her, feeling his own orgasm build, painfully erotic. Her head snapped up into his neck, biting down on his flesh, muffling a scream as her form froze and her body quivered, tightening and releasing over his cock as she climaxed. The force of her orgasm, her erotic movements and soundtrack, and the need which had been started by the opera earlier that evening spurred Hannibal's next four thrusts, quick, sharp, and deep, as he then pulled himself reluctantly from within her and spattered her exposed abdomen. He saw stars as he softened; she leaned against the wall and attempted to catch her breath.

     The two regained composure, adjusted their clothing, becoming publicly presentable again. Surveying the room together, the artwork was even more breathtaking for the experience they had shared together here. Hannibal picked up his suit jacket on his way to the door, shuffling into it, her following. As he buttoned up, he looked back around the room one final time, his eyes landing on hers last. "Beautiful," he said simply. She graced him with a smile, one that he returned, before they stepped back out into the lobby, no one any the wiser.

     Art was a wonderful, inspirational, beautiful thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I like the idea of Hannibal entertaining his own lust in its strongest\purest form on rare occasion, and that when he does indulge, it is simultaneously purposeful and a letting-go\release. Here's hoping I didn't slaughter the character while writing an example of that headcanon out!


End file.
